


In the Shadow of the Flame

by varjohaltija



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers live in the Avengers Tower, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of canon typical violence and past abuse, Omega Verse, Talk of infertility, There are ups and downs but tbh mostly this is fluff and smut, marsupial biology, more or less established relationship, pouch!verse, talk of termination of pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2018-08-24 15:39:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8377756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varjohaltija/pseuds/varjohaltija
Summary: Clint is convinced that good things are not meant for people like him. So when everything is -- for once -- going smoothly both in his professional and personal life, it shouldn't be such a surprise that life throws a curve ball.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is omegaverse, with the twist that human reproductive biology is somewhat like that of the marsupials in our universe. The most pronounced thing being that there is relatively short gestation period, and most of the fetal development happens inside the pouch. I've written a long pseudo-scientific text about that, but I will spare you for now :)
> 
> This got started from the chat discussion and all people involved are so goddamn responsible for feeding the rabid pouch!bunny. Thank you.
> 
> A special thanks to wonderful [TeamHPForever ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamHPForever) for doing great job betaing - without her the fic would be about 5% shorter due to lacking articles and prepositions :). And thank you,[ Jo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson), for commenting and catching yet few weird wordings. :)  
> All the remaining mistakes are on me.
> 
> Schedule of posting this fic has been a disaster and I'm very sorry for keeping you waiting. I'm extremely thankful that someone every now and then has nudged me about continuing and kept the embers glowing. <3 <3 Love you lots.

 

\---

“You smell funny.”

Phil honestly doesn’t mean to insult his omega, but he only realizes that his innocent observation might be interpreted wrong when he is forcefully shoved away. Clint is already halfway out of the bed when Phil catches his arm and tugs him back. Clint ends up sprawled on top of Phil, their noses almost touching. The hurt is clear on Clint’s face and he is tense, breath coming out in small offended huffs. Phil kicks himself mentally. Omegas in heat are sensitive, Clint with his abusive past doubly so… Phil really should think before saying anything. To his defense, he had just woken up with armful of gorgeous, heat-horny omega and most of his blood flow was directed instantly very far away from his brain.  
 

 _“Funny good. Really good,”_ he signs just as Clint is opening his mouth to say something undoubtedly self-deprecating. Now he just purses his lips together and looks incredulous. Someday, someday Phil will fucking _kill_ everybody who has hurt Clint in the past. But right now he needs to patch up what he can and make Clint feel cherished and loved in a way he deserves.  
 

To make his point clear, Phil pulls Clint down to nuzzle his neck with enthusiasm, licking and sucking skin, that indeed smells and tastes better than ever before and makes Phil growl so that his whole chest thrums with the sound. _He never growls this late in heat._ Clint shudders, melting into the caress, and lets out an appreciative sigh. Phil can feel him growing hard against his own straining erection. He pulls reluctantly away, taking Clint’s face between his hands, making sure that Clint can see him.  
 

“I chose my words wrong, babe. You smell wonderful, absolutely wonderful. But you’ve never smelled like this before,” Phil says.  
 

Whatever it is, it’s making Phil protective, wanting to claim his omega with a possessiveness he doesn’t remember from the previous heats he has shared with Clint. Words are hard to form, hormonal haze clouding his mind as Clint slowly ruts against him, letting out small, pleased sounds, but he needs to tell him how he feels, needs Clint to know how he would never ever ever hurt him… he needs to... Words fail. He can only groan, as he turns to mouth around the bonding gland that Clint is offering by tilting his head. Phil lets his hands roam over Clint’s back and arms, squeezing, kneading, pressing as close to the omega as humanly possible. He growls again.  
 

“I’ve never felt like this before, either. It’s almost like my heat will amp up again. But different,” Clint pants and twists to rise and straddle Phil. He is leaking, thighs wet with sweat and slick, cock jutting proudly upright, and the amazing smell of fully aroused omega fills the whole room. Phil cannot smell himself but he knows his surge of raw want reeks off of him, because Clint’s upper lip curls as he scents the air and his pupils dilate, drowning almost all the blue. He reaches to grab Phil's hands and pins him into the mattress. Phil cannot help the whimper that escapes.  
 

Clint’s voice has dropped to a predatory rumble. “You like this? Being under me?” He shifts to add more weight on Phil and tightens his grip.  
 

Phil doesn’t have to answer; he has gone pliant and his cock twitches so hard against Clint, he cannot possibly miss it. His pulse quickens and breathing is suddenly harder for being so goddamn aroused. An alpha shouldn’t like this, shouldn’t enjoy being held in place. But Phil loves the demonstration of Clint’s strength, the grounding weight on top of him, surrendering to someone he trusts. He has experienced rejection in the past because of this submissive streak and had been cautious of showing it, but Clint hadn’t minded. Quite the opposite. Now he grins and surges down to kiss Phil ferociously, nibbling and biting, plundering Phil’s mouth with his tongue.  
 

Phil writhes and moans and bucks under the assault. It’s perfect, letting Clint take charge. Someday he hopes to be brave enough to ask Clint to fill his most secret fantasy and fuck him. Now, however… “I want to touch you… let me touch you,” he pants when he manages to detach from the kiss for air.  
 

Clint lets go of Phil’s arms, propping himself upright and raising his hands behind his head, to flaunt the long, muscular lines of his body and naturally he knows his arms look amazing like this. Phil lets his openly worshiping, hungry gaze glide from Clint’s spectacular upper body down to his abdomen, where the vertical slit of the pouch opening is almost disguised by the trail of golden hair that extends down and down, over the taut plains of tanned muscles striped by the long, white scars. Beads of sweat trickle down as Clint gyrates his hips in excruciatingly slow motion, pressing down to massage Phil’s cock between them.  
 

“Stop, stop, stop,” Phil pleads breathlessly, fighting his body’s natural urge to buck up into slick touch, because just a little bit more and this fun will end almost before it has even begun. He has dug fingers into Clint’s thighs, probably leaving new bruises next to the ones he made earlier. He knows Clint will admire them in the mirror until they fade away, an undeniable confession of his ability to shatter the legendary control of Agent Coulson. The first time Phil had realized he left marks, he had let go of Clint like he was burned. It had taken Clint a while to calm him down and convince him that it was totally cool. That finger- and bite marks were a turn-on for him. Phil has learned to appreciate them as well, often pushing Clint’s shirt aside to place gentle kisses on these ephemeral mementos of the past moments of desire.  
 

Clint lifts a bit, the pressure eases, and now Phil’s breath is taken away by the sudden shyness that flashes on Clint’s face. He looks so young and fragile, worrying his lower lip between his teeth like he was unsure, before he grins cockily again, full of confidence in himself. And why wouldn’t he be confident? The flushed, sweaty man above Phil is the most beautiful, precious thing he has ever seen. Phil will never not be in total awe of being this goddamn lucky. He brings his hands up to stroke gently at Clint’s sides, scratching lightly with his nails and making Clint gasp as his muscles ripple under the touch. Gorgeous. Perfect. Phil traces the pouch opening carefully with his finger, something he usually doesn’t do, as it generally does nothing for Clint. While Phil might be intrigued by the pouch, it is seemingly as an erogenous “meh”-zone to Clint as nipples are to Phil. So, to his surprise, Clint moans and bucks up so violently, he nearly falls off of Phil. Precum doesn’t as much bead as gush from his cock.  
 

“Holy shit, do that again!” Clint urges after he calms down a bit, muscles of his stomach still twitching.  
 

Phil is more than happy to oblige. He starts rubbing small, gentle circles on the sides of Clint’s lower rib cage with his thumbs, over the defined serratus muscles which spread towards the abdomen like fingers – or wings – moving down and center, approaching the pouch slowly from both sides. Clint follows his hands with his gaze, biting his lower lip to stifle the whimpering.  
 

“Fuck, that feels good. It’s never been that sensitive before.” He leans forward to rub his cock with tiny rocking movements against Phil’s stomach.  
 

Phil circles the upright slit reverently, starting from the smooth upper part some way down of the sternum, where the skin is silky to his touch and  following the slightly puckered edges downwards where the hair gradually thickens, still soft and light, some strands glimmering almost metallic gold. He is trying not to linger too long on top of the scars that cross the opening and mar other parts of Clint’s abdomen, cutting across it in violent, broad strikes that tell about deep slashes meant to kill. This is not the time or place to pay attention to those.  
 

Clint whimpers and the muscle keeping the pouch closed relaxes under gentle caresses, but Phil knows better than to indulge stereotypical fantasies from alpha porn and try to shove his hand in. First of all, it doesn’t really do it for him to treat the pouch like any other orifice – he associates it too closely with babies and parenthood. He still has some vague memories of finding safety by climbing into his pop’s pouch even if he was already seven and only fit there partly. Second, he knows from medical reports that Clint’s pouch will not open more than few inches anyway. By trying to reach inside he would not only possibly cause Clint pain, he would also likely upset him.  
 

“You think too much,” Clint says above him. “I feel almost offended that I’m literally dribbling all over you and you've disappeared into your thoughts.” With a mischievous smile he reaches behind himself and takes a grip on Phil’s cock. He slowly pumps his hand, seemingly enjoying the stuttering moan he drags out of the alpha, when he tightens his hand briefly around Phil’s knot before continuing jerking him off. “Oh, look, I got your attention!”  
 

Phil wants to say something poignant about that, but manages only incoherent wheezing sounds as Clint rises, thumb pressing just so under the thick head, making Phil jerk helplessly under him.  
 

Clint laughs. The bastard. “Maybe it's just because I’m a man of very little brain, but all I can think of is getting your fat knot in me. Now.” He lines himself and starts descending on Phil’s hard length.  
 

Phil stops thinking.

 

\---

Sex, as usual, is mind-blowing enough to keep Phil from using his higher cognitive functions. There is just fevered movement of bodies, the sound of sweaty flesh slamming against sweaty flesh, delicious heat, friction and pressure on his cock and pleasure kindling somewhere deep in his groin, flames creeping slowly outwards.

It’s only when the bonding gland is shoved into his face that Phil’s brain switches on again.  
 

Phil has to fight the urge to bite down and _claim_. All his instincts are screaming to make Clint his and his alone. Skin under his nose smells more enticing than ever and Clint panting into his ear to _do it_ , to bond them, isn’t making things any easier.  
 

They have now shared heats for over a year, and an apartment for six months, but they’ve known each other and worked together for half a decade. Phil still remembers the day Clint first marched into his office, cocky and mouthy, irritating the living fuck out of Phil by slumping onto the couch and throwing his muddy boots on the table like he owned the place, and after debriefing Clint had audacity to walk out with Phil’s doughnut! It took a couple of years for Phil to admit to himself that alongside the doughnut, Clint had stolen his heart that very day. It took a few years more for him to do anything about it, mainly because he was certain that his feelings were one-sided and he would only make a fool out of himself by pursuing Clint. But now he has his perfect omega and he doesn’t want to let go, ever.  
 

So yes, Phil really, really wants to make this official, wants to tie them for life.  
 

But he mustn't. An omega in heat cannot really consent. Hell, an alpha in rut isn’t any more capable of making such decisions. They have to talk about this when both of them are in their right mind. Phil has meant to initiate the discussion in the past, but something had always gotten in the way or Clint had somehow distracted him... Phil has a nagging fear it is because Clint really isn’t that into him. Phil is painfully aware of his own shortcomings - his past lovers haven’t been too shy to tell him - and he knows that Clint could do so much better.

So when he climaxes, and fire of his knot filling and locking inside of Clint engulfs him, he uses his last bit of self control and bites down to the thick muscle next to the gland instead.

 

\---

Later, when they have separated, Clint is lying on his side, facing him, eyes half shut. His eyelashes throw long shadows onto his face and Phil really can’t help reaching to stroke gently down Clint’s cheek with a back of his hand, before starting to sign.

 _“You are so beautiful. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”_ There is so much more he wants to say, wants to ask. He wants to tell Clint he would like an eternity together, that he’d do anything for him… but he doesn’t want his words to be dismissed as post-coital soft-headedness.    
 

 _“So gorgeous…”_ he continues, pausing to trail his hand slowly down to Clint’s jaw and neck onto his collarbone, where it stays, above the steady heartbeat.  
 

Clint blinks, as if confused and a slight furrow appears between his eyebrows  
 

“Did I say something wrong?” For a moment Phil is certain Clint couldn't make out what he said, and is already raising his hands when Clint answers.

 _“When I look into mirror, I see…  I mean… I know I’m in great shape – dammit, I work way too hard on this body to not know it. But I don’t understand what makes you look at me like that and say such things. Because all I see is how troubled and damaged I am. Just ugly scars inside and out.”  
_  

 _“You didn’t choose to come across all the assholes that have treated you badly. You didn’t choose to be wounded.”_ Phil brings his hand to Clint’s stomach, deliberately tracing the jagged edges of the biggest scar. Clint flinches, but doesn’t bat the hand away, like he usually does. Phil tries to speak loud enough for Clint to hear: “Where you see scars, I see a survivor. Somebody who has been through all kinds of shit and still stands tall. Who has been hurt and still isn’t afraid to try again. To trust again.”

  
Phil shuffles closer and presses a soft kiss on Clint’s lips.

“I know I cannot understand even half of the pain you’ve endured. But you survived. You came out strong and beautiful… so beautiful. Let me be your mirror.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

When they finally emerge to the common area, luxuriously well fucked and disgustingly in love with each other, Phil still doesn’t want to let go of Clint. He is slightly disturbed by his own desire to drag Clint back to their apartment and lock the door behind them. Not that it isn’t natural for an alpha to be jealous around his omega, especially this near heat, but Phil has never been like that. They both are modern, have jobs and cannot really stay home longer than the most intense days of the heat.  It has worked fine so far.

Clint is also uncharacteristically affectionate. He clings to Phil, peppering tiny kisses onto Phil’s cheek and into the line of his hair whenever the alpha turns towards him. And really, Phil should be more embarrassed about it, but he just basks in the attention, practically purring, and even lets Clint crawl partly into his lap - there, in front of everybody, like they were teenagers with no shame at all! Phil doesn’t care. Not today when he is _so lucky_ to be in love and loved by Clint. He buries his face to Clint’s neck and lets himself linger just a bit, nosing skin. Even with a shower and fresh clothes there is still a hint of Phil, their scents mingling. It feels _right_. Ever since he got to know Clint his life has been better, brighter, more fulfilled. After they started dating he has been so happy it’s bordering on ridiculous. And now, now his heart is singing.

“Well, you took your time, Mr. and Mrs. Katniss. I already brewed some coffee - strong enough to etch glass, so it should be to your liking,” Tony says, putting two cups on the table.

Phil is conflicted for a moment between caffeine and cuddling, but pulls away and takes the cups, holding the other for Clint.

Clint crunches his nose. “No, thanks, not for me,” he says, making Phil’s eyebrows shoot up so high and so quickly that they might actually take off.

Phil narrows his eyes. “Who are you and what have you done to my boyfriend?”

Clint feels the familiar, happy tingle of being called Phil’s boyfriend. He cannot help the giddy smile that breaks onto his face.

“Stomach feels a bit odd, better leave the gasoline for later.” He looks at Phil, and sees how his expression turns from amused surprise to concern.

“Hey, I’m fine. Just a bit of heartburn. Really.”

“If you are sure…”

Clint answers by huddling even closer to Phil, kissing his cheek with a theatrical, wet smack and making him blush by murmuring low into his ear about how it’s cute when Phil worries and how he will prove how healthy he is in the evening...

Only when Thor arrives with an enormous batch of pancakes does Clint let go of Phil with a delighted gasp. He stays close, though, occasionally letting their shoulders and thighs brush, just like he was making sure Phil still is there, while he digs into the delicious treats which he covers with every available topping.

“Chocolate syrup, maple syrup, crushed nuts, strawberries and whipped cream? Are you sure you don’t want anything else with that?” Phil chides, but doesn’t really have any force in it. Watching his omega eat with enthusiasm fills him with fondness.

“Don’t mock it unless you’ve tried it. And you forgot peanut butter!” Clint gestures towards the plate, offering Phil to taste his abomination of a breakfast.

Phil shakes his head in mock disgust; “Ugh, no thanks. I’m committed to dying by exasperation over human stupidity, not diabetes.”

“Your loss,” Clint says, taking a bite and licking the fork clean in a way that should be illegal.

Phil decidedly averts his attention from Clint, trying to concentrate on the morning paper, coffee and letting Tony’s background rambling about this and that lull him to more professional state of mind. He does quite well, being somewhere in the middle of economics section and his second cup of coffee when he feels the green eyed stare drilling into his temple. He turns to meet Natasha’s disapproving gaze. As he cannot directly figure out what he has done wrong, he raises his eyebrow and shoulders in universal gesture of _“Yes? What you want from me?”_ (It’s universal, even goo monsters from Betelgeuse-C recognize it - and they don’t have shoulders.)

“Do I need to give you another shovel talk?” she asks with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Have you let him starve? Is this how you take care of him?” She nods towards Clint and for a brief moment she looks angry enough to make Phil’s testicles consider creeping back into the safety of his body. (This, too, is universal - there are no known corporeal entities that do not feel like sheltering their gametes when Black Widow is pissed)

And it is only now that Phil realizes that Clint is half way through his third gigantic plateful of pancakes. Thor is eyeing the rapidly diminishing pile with growing concern.

“Phil’s been feeding me just fine,” Clint defends between mouthfuls  “He is a _perfect_ alpha. I’m just hungry because of the few extra rounds we had just before coming down.” Clint wiggles his eyebrow and leans towards Phil, who again does something he’s never done before, taking a piece of pancake and feeding it to Clint in front of everybody. They aren’t usually very demonstrative, but it feels natural and right to provide for Clint. Clint takes the bite without a hesitation and starts cleaning the syrupy goo off Phil’s fingers with tiny kisses and nibbles. Phil barely stops himself from whimpering out loud.

“Uh, guys, can you not?” Tony is making faces at their antics “I mean, you’ve just had four days together, so how about not behaving like you are in dire need of knotting... that’s just... weird. Your scents are somehow off, too. Maybe you should go back to practice how to sex. Obviously you are not doing it right, if you can’t fuck it out of your system. I could show you few moves --- OW!”

Phil is too tantalized by Clint’s lips and tongue still caressing his fingers to get annoyed with Tony. Instead it's Natasha who kicks Tony’s shin, causing him to yelp.

Years of working together have taught Phil to read his assets and now, even being this distracted, he can tell that Natasha is worried. Her body is tensing ever so slightly and she is observing them with the heightened focus Phil is used to seeing only during missions. And yes, maybe they indeed are behaving a bit differently and under other circumstances he might be concerned about it … but... he cannot bring himself to worry. Clint is moving closer to him, having finished with his fingers and is now licking his lips clean in a way that captures Phil’s attention entirely. Clint looks at him, tilting his head for the inevitable kiss, the world narrows and for a moment there is just Phil and his perfect, perfect omega.

Loud clattering jerks them awake and apart. Steve has entered and the ruckus was caused by him tossing his shield to the corner.

Phil fights the urge to scowl. He knows very well that the shield can take the beating, and that Steve can do whatever he wants with his property… but he cannot help his inner fanboy feeling slightly offended that Captain America’s symbol is treated with such inattentiveness.

Steve’s nostrils flare and for a moment he looks at them like they had grown two heads. Then he shrugs and walks briskly to them, a smile slowly brightening his features.

“Congratulations!” He reaches his hand for Phil over the table, and his smile widens as he glances at Clint. “Wow, guys, that’s so awesome!”

They both frown and an awkward silence descends into the kitchen. Clint nudges Phil carefully and signs behind the table: _“Is he congratulating us on a heat spent together? Was that commonplace in the past?”_

 _“I have no idea, just be nice;”_ Phil answers quickly. He changes his coffee cup to his left hand, stands up and takes the hand that Steve has kept out this long, trying for as genuine a smile as he can despite his confusion. He doesn’t know what to say, so he goes with “Um, thanks?” and winces, because it did come out exactly as weirded out as he feels.

Steve’s starting to look slightly ashamed, pink creeping up his neck as he carefully pulls his hand away from Phil’s and brings it to his neck.

“I’m sorry… Isn’t it appropriate anymore to congratulate pregnant pairs? Not that you usually see them before they have a baby in the pouch, but…” He huffs bashfully, turning his gaze to the ground.

Phil realizes he has dropped his cup of coffee. There is burning hot liquid soaking through his socks, and he should be hurting, but all he can feel is the wave of panic as he watches Clint turn first as pale as a sheet, then slightly greenish, cover his mouth and run towards the bathroom.

He glances around. Steve looks confused, Thor is wide eyed with surprise, his fork with pancake frozen in mid movement and even Natasha’s cool demeanor is cracking, but Tony seems almost offended, and hits the table with his fist.

“Pregnant!? Dammit! _I_ should have figured that out!” He then cocks his eyebrow and continues with a wide smile: “Well, my bet is on neither of them knowing about the bun in the oven, either.”

Phil shoots Tony a red-eyed glare that promises tasers and a whole other world of pain if he doesn’t zip it. He then hurries after Clint.

Tasha, too, glares at Tony, who manages his best innocent, misunderstood face.

“What did I do?”

She rolls her eyes and sighs, deciding that if Tony’s genius brain doesn’t tell him when he is crossing the line, there isn’t much she can do. She turns instead to Steve who looks lost and like he could really use a hug now.

“I thought they knew…” he mutters, his whole face flaming. Tony steps towards him, but stops, when Natasha raises her hand. She wants answers.

“How come you recognized the scent!?” She pauses, realizing she is using her interrogation voice, and continues with a gentler tone: “Because you're right: You never see pregnant couples before the baby has moved into the pouch. They lock themselves in together after conception and stay in for the length of gestation. Just like it was in ‘30s. You have no siblings and as far as I know you’ve never been pregnant.”

“Not by me at least,” Tony quips.

Steve blushes even deeper red.

“We - we are not… We haven’t even…” he starts stammering.

“Wow, let me interrupt you right there. Do. Not. Need. To. Know,” Natasha hastens to say. Whatever mutual rebound relationship there is between Tony and Steve she doesn’t want to get involved. She has quite enough idiocy on her plate with rest of her Strike Team, thank you.

Steve sits down, careful not to step on the cleaning bot that is mopping up the coffee Coulson just spilled. “My mom was a nurse. Sometimes she went to help omegas and betas during their gestation. She took me and my friend with her, for help and also to teach us about childbearing. We were children, and because we were omegas it wouldn’t have been an issue anyway.” He accepts a cup of coffee Tony is offering and takes a sip before continuing. Memories of his childhood make his lips curve upward. His mother had been a hardworking and good person. Steve misses her. And so many other things from his past.

“Back then, a good pouchparent made sure their omega and beta offspring learned to recognize the signs of the pregnancy. Now that's taught in school. Yes?” He looks around, realizing that neither Tony or Natasha has been through a normal school system and they are alphas anyway. Asgardians have this weird breeding system Steve still has difficulties wrapping his head around. And yes, Clint… Steve hasn’t got to know Hawkeye that well yet, but of the little he has understood, Clint’s upbringing wasn’t exactly normal either. It makes Steve sad to think that he never had a parent who would have shown him even the most basic things.

“Nevermind,” he says, shaking his head. How is it possible, that he, the supersoldier from the past, seems to be the most average person on this team?

“So you are certain Clint is with pup?” Natasha demands. Now that she has had time to gather herself, there is no trace of worry in her voice. Steve knows, however, that she does care deeply for Clint. He’s seen her taking considerable risks saving him. And she cares for Coulson, too. They are probably the closest thing she has for a family. Fighting side by side, facing death together has the tendency to do that. Steve’s heart hurts when he thinks of the Howling Commandos… and of course Bucky… for him it feels like it was only few years ago that he last saw them, and it’s still hard to believe they’ve been gone for decades. And again, in this new life, new time, bonds of camaraderie were making the Avengers pretty much a family more than a group of coworkers. Not particularly tightly knit, but family nonetheless. Weird, weird family.

Steve nods. “Clint definitely smells like it. They both do, actually. Have they behaved any differently?”

“Oh boy, have they ---”, Tony starts a rant about the morning.

Tasha frowns, glancing at the direction Clint and Phil had disappeared. She had seen the scars on Clint’s abdomen. The little bird was going to need a lot of help.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. Depression sucks.
> 
> Betae'd by lovely and ever-efficient [TeamHPForever](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamHPForever). All remaining mistakes are of my doing.
> 
> Thank you [Ralkana ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana) for encouraging me forward.
> 
> Trigger Warning: talk/thoughts of abortion and involuntary childlessness.

\---

Clint cannot seem to stop gagging.

The aftertaste and smell of stomach contents triggers the vomiting reflex even though he has already wretched several times. His hands find their way onto his stomach, onto the masses of scars, and rub harder and harder. It kind of hurts, the attachments catching and pulling, but what makes him nauseous is the thing he cannot feel, the obvious absence of space beneath the skin.

The times Clint had fooled around with some beta or other omega, (What? It’s not like this is the middle ages.) he had loved the way their pouch glided on top of their abdomen, the softness of movement the slight give created when they rocked together. He remembers being a bit sad and even jealous that his pouch would never give even that simple sensual pleasure to anyone, not to mention some kinkier stuff. He hadn’t much dwelled on other limitations his injuries caused.  

He’d been too glad to be alive to particularly care about the long term consequences back when he’d gotten the scars. The doctors had fought hard to patch the stomach and intestines up and then cure the following infection that had finally fused almost all of his pouch to the skin below. It was a miracle he had survived and everything, especially miracles, comes with a cost, he had rationalized. And it wasn’t like the world was losing some great genes -  people as messed up as him shouldn’t breed. That thought had kept him from feeling bad about his inability to have children.

Until he met Phil.

He had often thought that people lied - to themselves and the world - when they claimed to have loved someone from the first moment they met. Heck, he was pretty certain the whole love thing didn’t exist except in the minds of the fools who wanted their sorry existence to be something more than surviving the shit that uncaring universe threw on their way.

Sure he had had affairs - relationships even. And he had cared for those people, had fun and made good memories. But all and all, no-one was irreplaceable or so special that he would’ve gone out of his way to pursue them or pined after them.

And then the universe decided to let him in on the collective joke and made his path cross with Phillip J. Coulson's. Just a glimpse of the strong frame, determined jaw and blue eyes, and Clint found himself irrevocably gone. With the fluttery goddamn butterflies and all. Fuck.

He had fought it, naturally. Tried to prove that first impressions shouldn’t be trusted and if pushed and prodded enough, this Coulson guy would show his true colours and turn out to be an asshole.

Being wrong had never been so satisfying.

Phil was not only damn sexy, he was also kind and funny and smart and a competent badass. The top level alpha without most, if any, of the off-putting qualities that usually came with it. And miracle of miracles - he had liked Clint, had made a first move, even. And they were good together. Despite himself, Clint couldn’t stop thinking that this would be a perfect partner to have a family with. Somewhere deep within, a foolish dream had sparked to life. That maybe someday they could adopt or foster a few kids, move to a nice house with a big yard, maybe get a dog...

But probably Phil, like so many alphas, would prefer to have kids of his own.  Something Clint wasn’t able to give.

And anyway, it was just a matter of time before he’d be over with Clint anyway.  Phil had already wanted ‘to talk’ several times about their relationship - probably to let Clint know they should maybe go on their separate ways. Every time Clint had feigned oblivious and turned the situation into sex. It had distracted Phil so far, but Clint knew that it wouldn’t work forever.

Not that Phil didn’t seem happy to be with Clint - for the time being. But eventually he’d get tired and realize that Clint wasn’t any kind of catch. Damaged goods, that’s what he was. On so many levels.

Remarkably, Clint’s hearing impairment hadn’t been a problem, because Phil’s pop had been deaf. But unfortunately it wasn’t the only thing wrong in Clint. He had this weird, blocky physique, and an edgy nature to go with it. He’s too loud and mouthy, too headstrong, not soft and lovely and yielding like a good omega should be. He had major hangups both old and new. And he wasn’t exactly A+ parental material either - he never had a normal family and childhood. How could he provide such for anyone?

Of course Clint had literally begged at the heights of his heat for Phil to breed him, to make babies with him, fill him with pups, and Phil had eagerly agreed, promised to pump him full of seed… but heat talk doesn’t count, does it? Even though Clint had never said those things to anybody else he had shared heats in the past with, it didn’t mean that Phil wasn’t just talking.

He almost hits his fist to the wall, because how could he be so stupid! He has totally let his guard down. Everything was going so well… too well. He was actually succeeding, both with his personal and professional life. What he had with Phil was great, even though it wouldn’t probably last and The Avengers was an awesome group to work with - he was using his skills to make a world a better place, fitting in. He was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, good things could keep on happening to him, that maybe he deserved to be happy. He had fallen in love, gotten comfortable. So yeah, it was about the time for life to smack him on the back of the head for daring to dream.

Because now his fucked up past, his ruined body, would destroy the thing he has wanted so much no matter how deep in denial he has been. Phil’s baby, his baby, their baby... is not going to make it. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Suddenly he realizes he isn’t even the most sad about the wedge this doomed pregnancy was sure to drive between him and Phil even sooner than their relationship would naturally end. Maybe it was hormones talking, but he actually would like to give birth to this pup, to feel them grow and move inside the pouch, experience their first peeks and trips outside, see them go to school, to graduate… He wants it, even if he has to raise the pup alone! 

But with no pouch it’s just easier to terminate the pregnancy as soon as possible to save the pup - and him - from unnecessary suffering. It's for the best. So he just needs to pull himself together. 

Bile is rising again into his mouth. He chooses to believe it's simply that aching and burning in his chest.

He can hear Phil calling outside of the door. He knows the man won't give up. He’ll wait there until Clint comes out. So better to get this over and done with.  Maybe… maybe Phil won’t leave him right away, but will at least wait until he’ll recover from the abortion, let him gather himself. Phil’s a good guy, gentleman after all.

\---

“Clint? Are you OK? Can I come in?” Phil wants nothing more than be on his omega’s side - not that he has a claim, not really. “Please?” Even if they were bonded he wouldn’t use his right to override Clint’s wishes. So he waits outside of the bathroom patiently, albeit jittering to his very bones.

The sound of vomiting has stopped and while hearing Clint’s distress was bad, making Phil clench and unclench his hands in a frustration of not being able to help, the long silence that follows is even worse. After what feels like forever, he hears the flushing and Clint finally answers.

“It’s OK, come on in.” Clint sounds exhausted.

Clint is sitting slumped on the tiled floor next to the toilet bowl, wiping his face with a towel and looking as miserable as you can expect of the person who just heaved his whole stomach contents. Phil feels sick. It’s not the sour stench of vomit but the distress reeking from Clint that makes his insides churn. _His omega_ on the cold hard floor, _his omega_ looking lonely and hurt… It takes a lot of self-restraint not to show his own upset, not to hurry to Clint and gather him to an embrace, hush and comfort him like an injured child. Clint hates that. So Phil just hovers, feeling helpless and useless. 

“Phil, I’m so sorry…” Clint winces and gestures vaguely towards himself, like he is apologizing for everything he is.

No way Phil can have that. He drops to his knees, and wraps his arms around Clint, who, instead of rejecting the offered comfort, leans to him heavily and lets out a stuttering sigh. Phil can almost feel his heart burst out of the protective feelings. 

This close and armed with information he didn’t have earlier, Phil can now recognize the developing scent of pregnancy - he has met people who have recently given birth and he has no doubt that Clint indeed is with a pup. He is silently berating himself. He should have realized this! He should have recognized Clint’s scent was different, should have put two and two together, when knots lasted much longer than in previous heats… should have… but he didn’t. He wonders how much of the ignoring the signs of fertile cycle was his subconscious desire to have a family with Clint. Because he cannot deny the tingly happiness that bubbles through all the other emotions, when he thinks that Clint is pregnant. He feels like an asshole. He is just about to tell Clint how sorry he is for being so careless, when Clint says almost inaudibly:

“I didn’t do this on purpose.”

“Of course you didn’t!” Phil’s heart breaks that Clint feels the need to say that.

“I probably fucked up my contraceptive implant.” Clint sighs, rubbing his temple on Phil’s cheek. “I bet it doesn’t take well getting bounced around with the rest of me,” he keeps on explaining and tries to laugh, but it comes out more like a sob. He would like to say that maybe he isn’t even pregnant, but he just knows he is. “I should have been more careful and had it checked more often.”

“Hey, hey… “ Phil says, petting Clint’s hair and shoulders, trying to be calm.

“...whatever has happened, we are both equally responsible, and whatever will happen, we will see this through together. I got you.” Phil presses a gentle kiss to Clint’s hair and stays there, holding him tight.

“I got you,” he repeats, just concentrating on the feel of Clint on his arms for a moment.

When Clint’s breathing has evened out, and the floor starts to feel hard on his knees, Phil loosens his grip. 

“You probably had nothing to do with this. Every method can fail. Only one hundred percent sure way to avoid pregnancy is not to have sex at all.”

Clint breaks into tired giggles.

“Well, that doesn’t sound like fun.” He raises his head to look at Phil, still laughing, although his eyes are worried. There is a single tear running down his cheek, maybe from laughing, maybe from being upset.  

“No, it doesn’t,” Phil says, smiling, and kisses the tears away.

Clint buries his face to Phil’s neck.  “Let's go back upstairs. I want to go home.”

Phil’s heart jolts almost painfully at this tiny acknowledgement that indeed at some point their shared apartment has become home, their home. Clint still has his own little apartment, and Phil can always bunk in his SHIELD-provided space, but this…  He swallows hard, to keep down the too eager words of love and forever. Not pressuring Clint now is imperative. Whatever Clint decides, he has to do it without feeling like he owes something to Phil.

“Yeah, let’s,” he says, rising and offering Clint his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

The apartment still reeks of the heat. Phil had planned to come home earlier today to air the place, fill the fridge, change the sheets and do the laundry. They could use Tony’s SHIELD approved home maintenance service, but he likes taking care of the apartment himself. Especially now that he shares his space with someone. Many alphas he knows would never do household chores, _particularly_ if they have a partner, which Phil finds ridiculous. For him there is very little more fulfilling than providing for an omega.

He is frantically updating the to-do-immediately -list in his head to include acquiring extra bedlinen in case they are to be holed up until the birth. And what do pregnant omegas need? Some vitamin supplements? He’s certain there is something… oh god they have no plan whatsoever... And baby stuff. They will need baby stuff soon. Or not. Maybe. As soon as it had sunk in that Clint indeed is pregnant, he had assumed they… he will keep this baby. But it is possible that Clint doesn’t want that. Something cold and painful lodges itself behind his breastbone. They’ll need to discuss this. And make decisions.

Clint obviously knows him too well, because he interrupts his thoughts by bringing a hand on his cheek.

“I will take a quick shower and after that I just want to go and have some rest. Can we talk later? In the evening maybe? Just… not now.” There is pleading in his voice.

Of course. Phil is getting way ahead of things. Clint must be tired, with heat hardly behind them and now this... If resting and not talking right away is what his omega needs, well, that shall be provided. Phil could also use some time to clear his thoughts.

“Sure. I’ll just change the sheets. They are pretty gross.  And I will also make a few phone calls. Is it OK if I ask Bruce to stop by when he returns to the Tower?” He finds himself weirdly opposed of the idea of involving outsiders in their affairs, but reasonably, whatever they will decide, they will need medical advice.

Clint smiles at the official tone Phil’s voice gets. Obviously he is a man on a mission now. “Yeah, it’s fine I guess. Take your time. I’m tired. I probably will doze off a bit.”

Clint helps to change the sheets (He kinda likes the smell, the strong mixture of them both, but okay they are yucky), gets to the shower and lets Phil fuss.

During Clint’s bath Phil makes something light for him to eat. The heat has depleted the apartment of the fresh food items and most of the preserved ones as well, so he warms up some canned soup, microwaves bread from the freezer and sets a loaded tray on the bedside table. He gives Clint a quick kiss before leaving. He is aching to touch the omega, to snuggle next to him, to feed him and drown him with affection, but Clint has never been good at accepting the level of coddling Phil would love to offer and now he is definitely telegraphing the need to be left alone.

Clint listens to the sounds outside of the bedroom and tries not to worry about the discussion they are going to have sooner or later. He eats the soup, nibbles at the bread and tries to read the book he was in the middle of, but soon gives up. He is too distracted by his thoughts. Normally he would go and burn this restless energy and empty his mind on the range, but he still feels a bit squeamish and also he has this strong urge to entrench himself and his alpha inside this apartment. And no, not entrench… _nest_. And that is just way, way too big a thought just now.

So he puts on his aids again and sends a calming text to Nat, who has bombarded him with several messages already. He then turns on the TV and continues bingeing Babylon 5 episodes he half-dozed through last time with Phil. Last spring Natasha had insisted they watch the series so that they can side with her when she argues with Maria about the character development. Phil had been (safely behind her back) dead set against the idea - why lose a perfectly good excuse to not get involved in the fights of really scary alphas? They had taken a peek of the series anyway, been hooked and were now having differing opinions of their own about it. Clint is _thrilled_ about the level of domesticity of it.

They are in the second season and Clint thinks Sinclair should have stayed on B5, because not only is he cuter (his smile reminds Clint of Phil), but Sheridan also fucks up everything. Phil doesn’t agree with him. He says that Sheridan could prove to be the commander the station needs. Clint greatly doubts that. Then again Phil has this knack at seeing good in people, at noticing their hidden potential. Or maybe he brings that up.

Clint snuggles into a comfortable position and tries to get absorbed into the fictional world. It’s not going particularly well, because almost everything on the screen reminds him of the things he doesn’t want to think about. Suddenly it seems like the amount of children on the space station has tripled and he notices for the first time that all of the alien species have a pouch. Which is actually weird now that he thinks of it, because only real alien he knows is Thor and according to him Asgardians don’t have a pouch at all.

He hears Phil moving around in the apartment and wonders what the man is thinking. So far he seems to have taken this in a stride. But Clint knows all too well how good Phil is at concealing his feelings. Even though Clint prides himself in seeing more of the real person behind the calm mask, than the rest of the world, he is still sometimes convinced that Phil must be keeping things from him. He has, for example, never brought up Clint’s sexually adventurous past, even though he must know about it. On the good days Clint believes it’s because Phil honestly doesn’t care. On the bad days he is convinced Phil is secretly resenting him.

He sighs. They should talk about that. And many other things. But first about… this. Clint rests his hand on his lower stomach. Why are words so hard? 

\---

Meanwhile, Phil keeps himself as busy as possible. First he calls the office to say they will continue their leave until further notice. He contacts Bruce who already knows  - because Stark is a blabbermouth  - and agrees to meet them first thing tomorrow.

Phil would be happiest to go to the store and carefully pick food himself, but no way he’s gonna leave Clint alone now even for a moment, so begrudgingly he gets groceries delivered instead.

He sits in front of the computer and makes some searches about pregnancies. And because he is nothing but thorough, he searches the information about termination of pregnancy, too. As much as the idea makes his stomach knot in potential sorrow, they need to know the timeframe - just in case. Hormonal terminations are done up to the week from conception. Even if Clint had conceived on the very first day of the heat, they would still have few days to act if it comes to that. Phil really hopes it doesn’t. But the decision is Clint’s.

He wants to go to the omega right now. To beg, demand him to give him a chance, their family a chance. Part of him contemplates using every ounce of guilt and insecurity there is in Clint to get what he wants. But that would be wrong. So he puts the washing machine on and opens the windows to let fresh air in. He does the dishes. He asks JARVIS to lower the temperature of the apartment. He polishes the silverware. He puts washed clothes to the dryer. When the groceries arrive, he makes some sandwiches for them both. He irons and folds the clothes. He balances his checkbook. He balances Clint’s checkbook - or tries to, but Clint has used the stubbs to make a flipbook instead of writing down the sums he has used, so…  He even hoovers, upsetting poor cleaning bots, which seem unsure whether they should attack or try to befriend their ancient colleague. When he starts contemplating on changing the curtains, he finally gives up trying to occupy himself… they really, really need to talk.

He slips quietly to the bedroom where Clint is lying on his side, eyes closed, remote control still in his hand. Phil carefully takes the control and switches the TV off. He sits to the side of the bed, just watching the sleeping man. His eye catches the bruise next to Clint’s bonding gland, the one he made that morning. Who knew how the day would turn out...

He reaches to run his hand through Clint’s soft hair that is still slightly damp where it has been pressed against the pillow, and refrains from sighing. He knows how to turn totally fubar operations into minor successes. He knows how to extract information when there shouldn’t even be any. He is competent in so many ways. But the one thing that he wants the most, making Clint happy, he hasn’t yet figured out. He’ll keep on trying until he does.

“Stop it. I can hear you worrying,” the gruff voice says somewhere inside the pillow.

Phil smiles. Of course Clint would be awake.

“Come here.” Clint doesn’t open his eyes or move other than raising his hand in invitation. Phil scoots to sit next to him, and Clint turns over to place his head on Phil’s lap, face upturned. He looks up, eyes dark in the dim light. Phil traces gently the contours of Clint’s jaw and eyebrow and nose with his fingertip, other hand continuing to pet his hair. Clint lets out a satisfied sound and closes his eyes. This, this soothes Phil more than any household work. He maybe shouldn’t be as surprised of it as he is.

Clint is not going to talk, so Phil does.

“I want you to know that whatever you decide is fine by me. I… If you don’t want kids, it’s fine,” he says, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “And if you do want kids…”

“Phil…”

“No wait. If you want kids, it’s fine too.”

“Phil… listen.”  
  
“I know this wasn’t planned, but life goes as it goes and it’s not like having a child is a disaster. We can --”

“Phil! You don't get it! This - ” Clint interrupts Phil sternly, and, looking incredibly sad, presses his hand to his lower abdomen “ - isn’t going to happen.” Clint stares into the alpha’s eyes, making sure he has understood.

Phil tries not to freeze at that, but regardless his hand stops for a moment in Clint’s hair and he has to focus to keep on breathing normally.

“Okay.” He nods, trying to be brave, even though this hurts much more than he expected. He averts his eyes - he cannot look at Clint. Not now when he’s kind of angry at him for simply exerting his right to his own body. Phil is better than this. He is. But he also has feelings.

“-- I mean it will not work. You have seen my stomach.” Clint’s voice comes as if through cotton.

“No need to explain. It’s okay if you don’t want to…” Phil answers, not really listening anymore. He is fighting back the bitter disappointment. His eyes sting and he has to blink fast, making an effort to sound reassuring.

“No, I do. Phil! I _do_ want this baby.”

 _What?_ Phil’s brow furrows in confusion.

“I want the baby, I’m just not sure I’m physically capable of carrying one.”

Clint hurries on, rushing the words like he was afraid he might not otherwise get them out.

“The scarring Swordsman left when he tried to gut me, it has almost completely attached the pouch to the skin below it. I cannot carry a baby. There is no pouch. I thought that I’d possibly try to get it fixed, maybe after we’d bonded…” He snaps his mouth shut and coughs in embarrassment. “ I mean _if_ we… It’s not that I expect you to… I…” Clint’s eyes start shining with tears and he turns his head away. “And now…. there is no time anymore,” he soldiers on, not looking at Phil.

 _Oh._ Of course Phil knew about the scars. He just never had let himself get carried too far away and start really thinking about having children together with Clint, and he was very open to adoption as well,so he had not thought to check Clint’s medical file with pregnancy in mind. And now he somehow just assumed the scarring would be a minor deal, something easily fixed. Which it obviously isn’t. He is such an idiot.

“Are you sure?” Phil cannot keep the shaking out of his voice. The remnants of upset are there and in addition his heart makes those somersaults again at the idea that Clint has considered bonding with him, having a family with him. That this unplanned pregnancy could turn to be a start of something wonderful. He refuses, absolutely refuses, to see that there is no way of making this happen. However, he doesn’t want to pressure Clint. Phil has to make sure that Clint knows that whatever he decides, doesn’t obligate him to anything. It's understandable that he has doubts about bonding with Phil. But that he has at least thought about it gives Phil hope.

“I… I maybe have been checking the reconstructive surgeries. Such extensive skin grafts can’t be made at once - it requires several operations and healing from each of them takes weeks even when everything goes perfectly. The pouch will not be ready in time. And anyway… a large surgery like that requires heavy anesthesia and strong pain meds. I don’t think that would be good for the baby even if the healing could somehow be hastened.” Clint’s voice is matter-of-fact, void of hope.

Phil’s jaw tightens in a decisive manner. “There must be some way. Some brand new technology… I don’t know, artificial pouch or something.” He waves his hand, trying to think of something, anything. “Bruce probably knows better about what can or cannot be done. We can ask him tomorrow.”

Clint is relieved that Phil obviously wants to have this baby. Not that he is surprised. Phil has never mentioned any desires to have a family, but the way his face goes all soft when he’s around his stepsister’s children has been telling. He has probably just never told Clint, because of his obvious damage... and regardless, Clint is not the kind of person anybody wants to have kids with. Phil wants the baby. But Clint is smart enough to know that it doesn’t mean he wants Clint, too.  

“So, we are on the same page? We are going to keep this baby?” Phil asks.

“If we can,” Clint answers, unable to keep disbelief out of his voice. He doesn’t want to be Mr. Negativity, but he also doesn’t want to get his hopes up only to get them crushed. That there might be options other than his pouch is something he hadn’t considered, but Phil didn't sound exactly reassuring.... and Clint just isn’t used to things going his way. He has been so incredibly lucky already, getting to have Phil for this time, that something disastrous is bound to happen. Good things never last.

Phil obviously isn’t in mood to argue. He glances at the television.

“I’m gonna get a shower now. After that you’ll report to me what has happened in B5 and we can continue watching together.”

\---

The moon shines through the window and Clint cannot sleep. He’s been awake since Phil passed out basically right after flopping to bed. He had made only few sleepy remarks of the show before starting to snore softly. Clint understands. It's been a tiring day. After smiling for a while to the adorable whistling sound Phil’s wonky nose was making, and reluctantly deciding not to try whether he could alter the pitch by pushing it from the side, Clint had turned off the TV, removed his hearing aids and started to worry for real. And because his brain hates him, he has come up with really impressive selection of worst case scenarios.

He rises up and goes to the window. The moon has hardly started to wane, and it looks huge as it hangs near the skyline. It hurts to think that in a different world, the one where he never opposed Duquesne and got his injuries, the one where the pup might survive, at the next full moon it could already be inside the pouch, suckling and growing in the warmth.

He runs his hand under his T-shirt, over the scars on his stomach. He's never been so ashamed of them around Phil before. Already when they started dating, Phil had seen him naked or almost naked plenty of times - mainly because Clint had used every opportunity to make that happen. There was no reason for him to be self-conscious anymore. Besides Clint’s blatant attempts at wooing, Phil had been there after Clint had been injured: peeled blood crusted clothes – or remains of clothes – off of him, washed him, patched him up… Phil knew about _this_ \- disgust washes over him as he grabs the pouch and tries to lift it – and still wanted him. Phil knew and didn’t care. 

And now? Will there be now new scars inflicted not only on him, but Phil too? What will Phil think then?

Suddenly he feels like he is shattering, all the cracks opening wide. He is angry at Phil for wanting the baby but not him. Because wouldn’t it be appropriate to suggest a bond at this situation!? What kind of asshole doesn’t offer to make a partner of the parent of their pup!? Of all people Phil, who is so eager to be a better alpha, who takes so much pride in doing the right thing! Hypocritical prick!

The anger dissipates as soon as it rose and it’s replaced with self-loathing. How dare he expect anything?! Phil got surprised too! And there is likely not going to be any pup, so what is he so angry about? Either way, how terrible would he be if he forced Phil into bonding because of this? That would be such a dick move!

The feelings storm inside of him, urging him to act. One moment he wants to wake Phil up and make him promise forever now. Next, he feels like running out of the door to never return. Luckily there is one thing his mom taught him, whispering in his ear in the dark of the night. She told him never to trust the hour of the wolf - “Mornings are wiser than the blue moments of the night,” she had said. Remembering that has kept him from making many stupid and even fatal decisions. For all her faults, she had given him the best she could, had guided and protected him beyond the grave. Something twists in his heart. If that is one thing he can teach his own pup he will have done well.   
  
The moon has disappeared behind the clouds, leaving the room in darkness lit only by the lights of the city below. In a few hours there will be dawn, a new day bringing more information. He might as well enjoy these last moments of not knowing anything for sure, try and believe in the future where all goes well.

He returns to the bed, and presses close to Phil, snuggling against his broad back. He inhales, trying to merge into Phil’s skin, make him and his scent unremovable part of himself, of his world and chase the pain away. He reaches his hand to grasp for Phil’s. Warm, steady fingers find his and intertwine, his hand is pulled first to Phil’s lips for a gentle kiss and then held tightly but gently against the breastbone. Soothing scent of content alpha fills his nostrils. But something is missing... He is annoyed at being this pathetic, this goddamn needy, but he tugs and pulls Phil, until the alpha turns and Clint can shuffle to press into the strong arms and bury his face to the crook of Phil’s neck. Enveloped into warmth and scent of his lover, feeling the hand in his hair, on the small of his back, he finally calms down. 


End file.
